


Comfort I can't give

by o0_Kiyomitsu_0o



Series: Times we met but didn't know [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Howard Stark (mentioned) - Freeform, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Tony, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Maria Stark (mentioned) - Freeform, Minor James 'Bucky' Barnes/Tony Stark vibes if you want it to be, POV Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, They deserve happiness that I obviously can't write, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, canonical violence, emotional hurt/short comfort/more hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29721651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o/pseuds/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o
Summary: The Asset is sent to retrieve some files from Stark-manor, expecting it to be empty only to run into a grieving young man.Focus on the Asset's point of view.Summaries are difficult.
Series: Times we met but didn't know [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184354
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Comfort I can't give

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for your interest in reading my story (^w^)
> 
> Before you continue, please note that I'm neither an native English- nor an native Russian-speaker aaaand I didn't have a Beta-reader to sort through my mistakes, so please excuse my grammar and my spelling. 
> 
> Translations at the end (I used an online-translator, please correct me)
> 
> Please note that the tags sound pretty dark. The story has some light moments too, but most of it circles around some sad stuff.
> 
> If you notice anything, please let me know so I can correct it right away (n.n)

After securing the serum and returning to it his handlers, the asset was sent out again. His new mission: To retrieve the remaining files of the serum from Stark manor. An in-out mission. No witnesses. An easy mission for the well-trained asset.

The asset had stalked out the house over the last two days. Checking it for the remaining residents. The only people he had seen were the butler and a housekeeper. The man and his wife who had lived here were dead. They had a son, so the asset was told, but he would be at his father’s business partners. In the unlikely case of encounter, the asset was told to make it look like suicide, to back up the tragic accident of the parents.

Still leaning against the wall surrounding the manor the asset had watched the butler and the housekeeper leave. They were talking about the future of Stark-manor, paperwork that was still left to do, the young master they haven’t seen in days, the grocery list they had to go through that would take them at least the rest of the day since their pantry was nearly empty. 

The moment the sleek black car the man and the woman had disappeared into vanished in the distance the asset got out of his hiding spot behind a massive tree. With the house empty and no security around he would get in without any problems. The asset knew the ground plans. His handler had given him clear instructions where the files would be. Not five minutes later the asset had crossed the wide greenery surrounding the manor, slipping through the service entrance that wasn’t even locked. He didn’t spare the expensive paintings and artifacts decorating the entrance hall any attention, focusing to get into the second room to the right on the first floor. 

The asset scanned the room, blueprints and formulas haphazardly thrown over the desk and floor some even pinned to the walls, showing gadgets the asset didn’t understand the use for. It didn’t matter anyways because his eyes went back towards the black oak desk, where the files in question should be hidden in a double bottomed drawer.

The drawn curtains blocked out most of the light, but the asset knew how to work with limited sight. He had heard his handlers call him quiet, quick and efficient, which was the only reason he seemed to be still alive since hydra didn’t tolerate failure, so he focused on getting his mission done. Not five minutes later the drawer, locked with an easy to pick lock was opened, the wanted files securely hidden underneath the assets tactical gear.

The asset was already half the way down the hall when a noise behind him made him freeze for a moment, his enhanced senses spiked to the max. The metal hand was inching towards the knifes handle, so he could get the first strike the moment he turned around. 

His fingers tightened around the leather handle. With a quick turn the asset twisted the knife out of the holster while getting himself into position to attack only to freeze all over again. 

Dressed in a dirty threat-bare tracksuit, hair messy and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in hand a young boy, not older than 16 years shuffled out the door the asset had just passed. Even with the thick leather mask covering his mouth and nose could pick up the stench of sweat and alcohol. The impossible large brown eyes were dull and hollow from the numbing toxin as well from… crying? Even in the faint light falling into the darkened floor the tear streaks down the still youthful chubby cheeks of the boy were very visibly. 

None of them moved. The asset considered his options. Killing an inhabitant would raise suspicions and could endanger the mission, but the boy had seen him, was still looking at him. The asset eyed the nearly empty bottle the residue liquid swaying in time with the dazed witness. The disheveled boy was falling asleep as he stood in the hallway petrified. Whether it was because of the asset surprising him or because of the amount of alcohol he had already consumed, the asset wasn’t sure. Either way the later of those options would very likely guaranty, that the doe eyed brunet wouldn’t remember the asset and even if, it was hard to prove the truth as a drunken man. Coming to a conclusion the asset loosened his grip on the knife, ready to leave, complete his mission and report back to his handler when the boy took a step forward into the asset’s direction. He automatically braced himself for an attack, muscles tightening to be ready to pounce into a counter-strike. 

To his surprise the swaying kid just tumbled forward and was already half the way down to the floor, most likely spearing himself on the bottle’s crystal top in the process.  
Without realizing it, the asset crossed the two steps separating them, catching the slender body in his arms.

The movement was awkward since the asset wasn’t trained to hold someone and not immediately crush the bones. For the first time the asset was uncertain what to do. Without his handler to bark out orders on how to proceed he was lost. The situation nothing like anything he knew. For a fleeting moment the asset wished his handler would give him an order, if only for him to concentrate on so he could ignore the sudden headache rising behind his temples.

A soft sniffle from the boy leaning against his chest pulled the assets attention back to the problem at hand. Scanning the hall and different doors he decided to put the boy back from where he had come from. Lifting the fragile body was easy in the matters of weight. The bigger difficulty for the asset was to keep the metal hand light to the touch. Why was the asset so concerned about accidentally hurting the boy? 

With long silent strides the asset crossed the hall, entering what seemed like the bedroom of the boy limply hanging in his arms. There was something about that short scrawny kid, something familiar the asset couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was about to drop the boy onto the bed and get back to his probably already waiting handler, a cruel man who didn’t like to be kept waiting, but when he was about to turn away, he felt two soft hands wrapped around his neck. Not strong enough to do any kind of damage, but too tight to pull free without hurting him. Why did it matter to him? He should have eliminated the witness the moment he was seen. It’s what Hydra had taught him during endless training-lessons.

The asset gently pried off the shaky hands, forcing the boy to let go. A heart-breaking sob escaped the dry lips. Another. And another. The asset was still holding on to shaky wrists when a tear slipped past the tightly shut eyes. He watched in rapt silence, unsure what to do as more and more tears began to fall freely. 

Pictures of a young blond boy crying in a corner of a dingy ally flashed through his mind. Of two flesh hands pulling the too thin boy close. The asset unconsciously mimicked the movement, letting go off the shaking brunet. 

The moment he was free again those twig thin arms returned to their previous position, clinging tightly to the assets neck, burring his face right above the leather gear that covered the seam of his metal arm. Hesitantly a metal hand was placed on the small of the shaking boys back while the asset let his right hands fingers run through the greasy brown locks in what he hoped to be a soothing manner.

They stayed like that for a while, the weak hold around his neck tightening as the sobs continued and the boy cried out his sorrow. ‘Mo..m, dad, mom’ the syllables cut with every shuddering breath. The pleas disappeared into the assets neck, where the boy’s face was trying to press closer as if he could hide himself from the pain. The spot was starting to feel warm and wet from tears, the asset didn’t mind, instead he tightened the hold on the slender body, offering the boy the shelter he was desperate to find.

The sobs only got worse. Anguish and hurt open to hear in every broken word. ‘ple...heas, ple-ase don’t... don’t... leave me... don’t leave me alone, mom, don’t leave me please...’ the boy begged over and over again as if repeating it would eventually grand him his wish.  
The asset was familiar with pleas, but mostly they had begged to spare their lives. To leave them alone. To let someone live. None of them had affected the asset, but this, this was different. For the first time since he had been reactivated the asset felt something in his chest. A pinch that quickly turned into a heavy lump making it difficult to breath. 

Anthony Edward Stark. Only son of the successfully eliminated target Howard Stark and the eliminated witness Maria Stark. 

The realization was aggravating the headache clouding the assets senses. He was the reason for the boys pained expression. It had been his mission. He had killed his parents and he had felt nothing while doing so and now the boy was clinging to him. Had his handlers given him new clothes? Was the boy crying into the gear that was still tainted with the blood of his parents? 

The asset was shaking. He tried to push the boy away, who immediately pressed himself closer to the asset. ‘No… no… don’t leave… please… don’t.’ the voice was frantic and hoarse from crying and the asset was ready break. To throw the boy off and just run, but he didn’t, he couldn’t hurt him, not after what he had done already. ‘I don’t wasn’t to be alone. Don’t. Don’t leave me alone… please… don’t.’ the voice was brittle, the exhaustion obvious.  
Suddenly the tension left the fragile body and for a moment panic rushed through the asset. He immediately checked for vital signals. Heart-rate, high but beginning to slow down. Breath, shallow but steady.

The asset let out a shaky breath, before letting the unconscious boy slide down onto the bed. In the distance he could hear the car, the butler had left in driving towards the manor. He would check on the boy. Without thinking about it the asset let his metal hand brush away the matted brown curls sticking to the exhausted face. ‘Мне жаль. Они не вернутся, но вы будете жить дальше.’ 

The asset made his escape through the window. As soon as he had left the manor, starting to form an escape plan he was stunned by tow dark clothed figures. He woke up in the bunker, tied to a chair, heavily constricted. His handler was leaning against a desk across the room. ‘You got the files. Why did it take so long?’ the heavy German accent making it hard to understand. When the asset didn’t reply the man snapped his fingers, causing another shock of electricity to run through the assets body, causing it to spasm uncontrollably. The man eyes him with predatory eyes, only waiting for the asset to speak up. 

The closed his eyes thinking about the boy who just wanted his parents back, the parents he had taken from him. He couldn’t stop the single tear slip down his cheek. ‘Мне жаль. Я не хотел делать тебе больно.’.

There was silence in the room. Another voice whispering in German. Followed by a cruel laugh of his handler. ‘You didn’t mean to? You are made to, but it seems like you forgot your place.’ Heavy boots stepped closer and suddenly the venomous voice spoke directly into the assets ear. ‘Don’t worry I’ll remind you of your place, but first…’ the man spun on his heels barking at the other men the asset had seen before. ‘…wipe him. I want a clean sheet to start on again.’ The asset didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t look up when a piece of rubber was pressed against his mouth for him to bite on. He felt a metal band close around his head, he felt his muscles tighten automatically. A futile attempt to brace himself for the pain that was about to follow. That would burn everything in its wake. 

Tony woke up when the heavy front doors fell shut, a strange scent of gun oil, leather and something he couldn’t quite put his fingers on clinging to the back of his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Мне жаль. Они не вернутся, но вы будете жить дальше. : I'm sorry. They will not return, but you will live on.
> 
> Мне жаль. Я не хотел делать тебе больно.: I'm sorry. I did not want to hurt you.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
